How We Do It: Part XIV in a series

I'm not sure if it was the humming that was making us mad, not angry, but mad in the oldest sense of the word, demented, wild, rabid or whether it was Ikea, the aisles of particleboard, the vistas, the candles, the rugs rolled up, this size Mom and what color blue? But we were mad from Sophie's humming, nearly hysterical, and when Oliver grabbed her wheelchair and began running, the winds of Ikea in her face, the humming stopped and we laughed even harder, out of control, mad, hysterical, straightening up in line just barely, slowing up and the humming started again so loudly that the lady behind me, her hair long and gray, her face worn and ugly, a wicked witch, declared What's that noise? to the cashier in cahoots and I turned and said It's my daughter and she replied Sounds like a foghorn and I said Oh, how awful for you and then the boys flew through the air with karate chop kicks, fire from their toes and she melted right there, right then, spontaneous combustion if ever there was such a thing, a pile of ash that the next customer stepped over and we all flew up, foghorn first, Sophie's chair airborne, plastic flowers in her hair, the Boys and I straddling the rug, rolled up shag so blue that when we sailed through the doors, we melted into the sky.